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Carnal Retribution

Posted on May 25, 2007
Filed Under The Stories |

Her mascara was streaking down her cheeks at an alarming rate. If she didn’t know better she’d think the stuff was waterier than usual. Actually she didn’t know better. She wasn’t really an expert when it came to evaluating the thickness of mascara and the speed it would run at in various situations. She was running too and the impact of feet upon pavement was racing up her legs, jarring the streaking tears so that little starbursts of grey-black dotted the mascara tracks.

Why am I crying? I should be angry! Wait, maybe these are angry tears.

Even she didn’t consider that to be the truth. She knew she was crying and that she was running and that she would have to stop doing at least one some time soon. The burning in her chest was spreading like a flash fire through her ribs and she could imagine them crackling red and sputtering grey as she burnt more calories through exercise than she had in a very long time.

I need to stop.

The image of burning ribs before they crumbled to ashen dust was playing too vividly in her mind. She knew her body would cave in if her ribs burnt down. That was nearly pure oxygen in her lungs after all. She was fuelling the fire, she was killing herself. She had to stop.

With the heavy patter of feet trying to gather enough purchase to be able to slow down and eventually halt a fast moving body she stopped running so she could start breathing. Palms on knees she sucked dry air in. It singed her nostrils going in and stung her eyes. She realised she was posed for doggy-style in the middle of the street and had no one to give it to her.

Not no one.

Just…not the one she wanted.

Her chest was heaving, her doubled-up stomach protesting against being pressed in like that. Her shoulders rose and fell and she was putting a little more than comfortable pressure on her knees. So she straightened and squared her shoulders until she looked like a prizefighter preparing for his promotional photograph. With her head thrown back like that, the mascara was sneaking down the underside of her chin. Hanging off like the ends of a messy handlebar moustache.

She closed her eyes, partly against the early afternoon sun and partly because the sadist in her needed to replay the scene one more time.

“I’m sorry babe, it’s just not working out.”

He was running the back of a palm against the side of her face as he said the words. He was cupping her ass through the thin summer dress as he gave her the kiss off. They were intertwined, a comfortable mesh of limbs and warmth when he told her that he didn’t want to be her boyfriend anymore. Luxuriating in the comfort of his grip she thought he was joking. She smiled. It was a gummy smile, the smile she allowed herself when she was too lazy or too content to provide the correct gum-to-teeth ratio she constantly delivered for the benefit of cameras.

The bastard hadn’t been joking. He said as much, he said, “I’m not joking. I really need to be alone right now.”
And yet there she was, with him. So he wasn’t alone and he didn’t seem to want to be. Not when he couldn’t be bothered to ease his grip on her ass. Not when she could feel him alive and well near her left hip.

“Really? Then what is this?”

She gripped, not too tight, not like there was a threat of physical harm. He tensed slightly, “that…erm…” and coughed once, “is in case you know, you wanted to…one last time, for old time’s sake…”

She needed it to hurt him as badly as it had hurt her but she didn’t know how. So she let go and walked away. She managed to get out into the open without incident. She managed to pound the pavement for thirty seconds at full speed before the tears came.

She didn’t know how but she was going to make him feel worse than she was right then. All she needed, was a plan.

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